“Surely Arminia wouldn’t have stored an important paper document in an oven,” Miss Oak fretted. “Or a fireplace. Or inside a teakettle.”
“Or on the sun, or between a pair of curling tongs,” Stephen agreed. “The references must mean something else.”
“Obviously this means something else. It’s aclue, not the answer.” Miss Wynchester drummed her fingers on her sword stick. “Can I keep these letters?”
“Yes, of course. Whatever you need. I just know you’ll find my sister’s will.” Miss Oak’s voice shook. “Youmust. It’s not just me counting upon it, but all the children, too.”
“I understand,” Miss Wynchester said with surprising gentleness. “I promise we are working to that aim as quickly as we are able. In the meantime, I must beg of you to remain at home for your own safety. Reddington has made credible threats against the castle.”
Miss Oak gasped. “You cannot let him harm a single stone!”
“We won’t.” Miss Wynchester plucked the letters from Stephen’s hands and retied the stack with string. “Now, promise me you’ll stay safe at home until you hear from me. I won’t stop searching, no matter how long it takes. And my family is hunting for your nephew as we speak.”
Miss Oak gave a grateful smile and rose to her feet. “Thank you, Miss Wynchester. I knew I was right to come to you.”
Stephen instructed Forester to accompany Miss Oak. Once they left, Stephen turned toward Miss Wynchester. Both her hands gripped the handle of her cane, and her brow was furrowed.
“Is something amiss?”
She glanced up with an odd little smile. “Besides all the things that are quite obviously amiss? No. Just my impatience, I’m afraid. It’s easy to vow to hold strong ‘as long as it takes’… and much harder to actually wait that long. At this rate, my brother will find Densmore before I follow the clues to the will.”
Stephen doubted it. “You’re looking for Densmore where, might I ask? I’ve sent missives to every inn and gaming hell in England—”
“Bah,missives. Try sending spies. What makes you think he’ll pause his gameplay to read a letter from his cousin? Particularly when you’re doing exactly what he wanted you to do.”
Stephen cleared his throat. “Did you just say… I should have sentspies?”
“Or messenger crows. Those usually get a second glance. Didn’t you promise supper? Let’s move this conversation to the dining table, shall we?”
“Of course. Our meal should be ready at any moment. If you’ll come with me?”
She hauled herself up from the sofa with her sword stick and gave him a winning smile. “I’ll follow you anywhere that leads to good food.”
“Don’t tell Reddington that. He’ll know how to lure you from the castle.”
“I said followyou, not toddle after any old ordinary scoundrel.” She took Stephen’s arm. “You, sir, are an extraordinary scoundrel, which happens to be my favorite type of rogue.”
“I’ve never been more bewitched by a berserker,” he found himself replying.
Whatwasthis inane conversation they were having? Had Miss Wynchester been right from the beginning, and they had been flirting all along? Or was this something new? A corner turned from where they’d been before?
It wouldn’t do, Stephen told himself. At the very least, this nonsense couldn’t progress beyond idle flirtation. His goal was to resume his cherished, solitary life. Not invite someone else into it.
Besides, once they found Densmore or the will, whichever came first, Miss Wynchester and Stephen would go their separate curmudgeonly ways.
Good. It was better that way. Wasn’t it?
12
Over the course of the meal, Miss Wynchester peppered Stephen with a steady stream of inquiries about his cousin. Stephen forced himself to respond as pleasantly as he could, but the questions kept coming. It was one thing for Densmore to deflect unwanted attention from strangers when he was actually there, and quite another for the earl to be distracting Miss Wynchester from any thought of Stephen while they were alone together in the same room.
When the last dish had been served and the topic had not changed, he groused, “Are you writing a biography about the man?”
“Not me,” she replied. “My brother.”
Stephen paused with his fork halfway to his mouth. “Your brother is writing a biography about the Earl of Densmore?”
“Graham keeps extensive journals on everyone in London and its periphery. His notes on your cousin are light only because Densmore is rarelyinLondon, seeing as his lordship has never bothered to take his seat in the House of Lords. I want to be certain to pass on any information that might aid my family. These details give me something to include in my daily summaries.”
